


Three

by Hotalando



Series: Vacancies [1]
Category: One Piece
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Coping, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Family Loss, Gen, Heavy Angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:33:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23892376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hotalando/pseuds/Hotalando
Summary: Sabo has imagined this ball party differently. To be a fun evening, one he‘d spend with his closest friends, eating and drinking for free, maybe even dancing. With Koala in a nice dress. Just as planned. It should have never been their first public event after his brother‘s funeral. There should have never been one.
Relationships: Koala & Portgas D. Ace, Koala/Sabo (One Piece)
Series: Vacancies [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1722010
Kudos: 6





	1. First

**Author's Note:**

> All of these three short stories are about severe depictions of depressions, of actions related to this condition and about coping with the loss of a loved one. If you aren't comfortable with these themes, I recommend you don't read on. Don't trigger yourself, cherish yourself and stay healthy <3

He hates these days.

He hates these nights. 

He hates these phases. 

Of isolation. The alienation, the role of the distant observer with hands bond behind his back. 

He hates the darkness.

It separates them, it blocks him, drifts them apart and out of reach. 

She hates him. 

Due to the darkness, he thinks. She cannot see, she cannot feel that he‘s not a foe, not a stranger. Blinded by the lack of light, a vacancy with a low level of oxygen. How he hates to see her gasping for air.

“Koala,” he presses, his hand cautiously placed on her shoulder, a touch so light but meaningful, “We could just leave, we don‘t hav–”

Abruptly she tears her shoulder out of his grip. Features tensing up into a painful grimace—there it is again, the hatred to mask her sorrow. Like glass shards her emotions glisten in her eyes, itching into the edges and framing those beautiful orbs with red. As her cheeks, tinged in the same colour from the hours of lost control, from the glass shards trailing down her face with their sharp edges.

So much has been lost already. 

Sabo doesn‘t know how to handle this situation better. Her moods, her sadness, her darkness. The alienation. From his spot in the far distance, he could only ever hope that the winds would carry his voice to her some day. But there never is a breeze to begin with. 

Giving in, he hides both his hands in his pockets, just standing beside her as close as he can. His gaze wanders over the vastness of the room spreading out in front of them—so many people, so many encounters, so many ugly questions. Not even he is ready for this event, and he wishes he had stayed home like Luffy. Then again, normality has to be restored and to his liking, it couldn‘t be soon enough. 

He’s imagined this ball party differently. To be a fun evening, one he‘d spend with his closest friends, eating and drinking for free, maybe even dancing. With Koala in a nice dress. Just as planned. 

It should have never been their first public event after his brother‘s funeral. There should have never been one. 

To distract himself from these cruel thoughts, Sabo dares another look at his fiancee. Clenched fists, one of the glass shards is cutting its way free through her lashes—still she‘s paralysed. Petrified, while inside a wildfire is burning herself to ashes. 

So much has been lost already. Sabo couldn‘t lose her too, not to the same killer. 

Carefully, he sneaks his hand around her upper arm, affectionately squeezing it but light enough to not scare her. When she doesn‘t react, he pulls her close to lean against him and tilts his head to whisper, “I‘m not letting you get hurt. You don‘t owe anyone to be here, let‘s go home.“ 

He‘s awful with words when it comes to reassuring. But nothing could have prepared him for these moments, taught him which words to use, that brushing her tears away only hurt her more. In all this time, it must have been his brother to keep her demons at bay—why had Sabo never asked him for guidance? Why had he never noticed, what Koala was going through? 

Guilt slips from his lips again and he trembles a little, his hold around her intensifies. She‘s his anchor, but she‘s already drowning. It‘s so clear in her eyes—the tide is rising. 

There is so much pain. And he just wants it to go away. 

No more closing his eyes like a child and blanking it out. _If I can‘t see it, it can‘t be there_. She‘s still there, with her eyes wide open in panic, in pain, in the silence that is sealing her lips. Even when he doesn‘t look, she‘s still there. 

“Koala, _please_ ,” he hears his guilt, his own sorrow beg, to no avail. A mess, his voice is uncertain, shaky, undefined. Again, his lips touch her head, _so much guilt_ is tainting them.

With a jolt she breaks free, shoving him aside to create a distance he cannot fix. Not in time, not in ever, and not much is left to be done when she is rushing to the exit. 

He is losing her already.


	2. Second

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of these three short stories are about severe depictions of depressions, of actions related to this condition and about coping with the loss of a loved one. If you aren't comfortable with these themes, I recommend you don't read on. Don't trigger yourself, cherish yourself and stay healthy <3

An entry. Of a diary. 

But instead of being written in a book, it‘s scrabbled hastily on the white board on the wall. Red ink on the smeared glassy surface. It shines as bright as fresh blood. 

Where are these associations coming from? 

In the unhabited bedroom. Empty but clattered with furniture and memories. Belongings of a man who used to live here. Who used to exist. 

They haven‘t gotten around to remove any of it. His bed, the clothes, the books... the sorrow. The anger. It feels wrong, to just get rid of everything without his permission. As if he would ever come back to them. 

As if he had ever asked for their permission. Before getting rid of himself. 

Sabo stumbles back to the bed, letting loose of his balance and stance. Sinking without a halt into the worn down mattress, gasping in short breaths, his lungs aching from the heaviness of his emotions. _This anger._

Red on white. He remembers that he isn‘t here for him but for them. For her. Those words written outside of their usual compound. Outside her comfort zone. No diary entry. It‘s a message—to him? 

_If I could ever see you again_

The lump in his throat doesn‘t budge. He can barely breathe, let alone think. Another attempt, he swallows harder and feels tired from the effort. But he owes it to her, the concentration, the attention. The focus on _her_ within these walls. Despite that everything smells of _him_ , reflects him, displays him. 

_I wish I could tell you what you used to tell me_

Second line and he halts again. Considering to call Luffy, he cannot stand this anymore. But neither could they. _Neither could Ace_. Why would he give up so easily, beaten by some single emotion? By some red words on white? 

_But now your words don‘t mean a thing anymore. You left. And you‘ve taken along everything that I have been worth._

Alarmed by the words, Sabo coughs up the air that couldn‘t get through a line before. His senses, his spirits, his brain, he is now wide awake. It stings so badly, burning a hole through his chest and scattering the ashes on his guts. Maybe he has no right to read these words after all. Maybe

_I am worth nothing. Your words... all these lies._

_You said my demons weren‘t real. You said you were. You said your faith in me was real. But you aren‘t real anymore! What can I believe now? That there‘s no reality without you? That my demons are real? That I must hate myself forever? That I must be a burden to_ him _forever?_

Maybe he is the killer. Maybe he is the destroyer. The personification of ignorance. Lack of attention. He should have read these lines all along. Should have seen them in her eyes. In _their_ eyes. Instead

he abandoned them when the tide was high. When their darkness spread over them, again and again. When their lungs filled with water, when their screams were swallowed by their oceans. Again and again. 

He left them to themselves. Broken, torn. Lying in their own blood and tears, and self-loathe. Ready to die. 

A murderer. He is a murderer. And he has to hurry to not kill her, twice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter in particular might make more sense if you‘ve read chapter 2 of _Vacant Spot_ but said fiction is even darker and more explicit when it comes to depressive themes and self-harm. Don‘t read if it could trigger you!


End file.
